white flowers are stunted, one day more, on the cherry tree that stares at me through the kitchen window.
grey mounds in the sky
django rings through my eggs which take the shapes of springs blossom and i wade into a leery mug.
we occupy the table and i see you lay across of it.
hoho, a merry fantasy. yet each movement of your tongue splashes over a syrup of soft words and i can't shake my eyes from the beauty mark on your lip. we think of marilyn and there is a room for sadness on this rock which slowly drifts away from the continental pulse.
you give me a smile and i give you bread and we chew on the sweet and brittle crust.